The Old House on the Corner (14 page)

It must have been Alex Rees-James he’d been speaking to. Sarah had always assumed he
was
Daddy’s best friend and partner. They spent hours in the office upstairs studying the
Financial Times
and talking business. Until a few months ago, Alex and his incredibly skinny wife, Midge, had dined with her parents at least once a week. One year, they’d all gone on holiday together to the South of France. The Rees-Jameses had no children and seemed terribly fond of one another. It had come as quite a shock when, after Christmas, Alex announced he and Midge were getting divorced. Nobody could understand why and Alex and Midge weren’t prepared to tell them.

Alex was a few years older than Sarah’s father. He wasn’t quite so tall, so brown, or so handsome, but he was an attractive man all the same. Powerfully built, the nose on his flat, tough face was slightly crooked, which Daddy said was because he’d been a boxer in his youth
and it had been broken. ‘Alex was born in the East End of London and his name then was Alex James,’ he said a trifle spitefully, adding, ‘It’s marvellous the way he’s hauled himself out of the gutter.’ Alex always wore beautifully cut Italian suits – he must have had a whole wardrobe of them – and Sarah had always admired his forceful personality and abundant energy.

He lived in a big house called The Grange only a mile from their own. Alex had designed it himself. It had acres and acres of garden. Mummy, who rarely passed an opinion on anything, had called it a monstrosity of a place, but Sarah liked the big, arched porch, the floor-length windows, the little turrets on each corner, the stone eagles perched at each side of the massive, iron gates.

Most of all, she liked the horses that Alex bred in the brand-new stables – he was hoping to produce a Derby winner one day. Daddy used to take her and Julia to see them and feed them carrots. Sarah loved the feel of the soft, velvety noses nuzzling her hand, although horse riding was one sport that didn’t interest her because she was scared of heights.

She was still standing outside Daddy’s office when the phone rang. ‘I’m sorry I lost my rag, Alex,’ she heard him say, so humbly that she squirmed. ‘It’s just that Spanish thing virtually cleaned me out. I’m desperate.’ Another pause, then, ‘Of course you can come tomorrow. What time? After breakfast? That’s fine. Look forward to seeing you, Alex, old friend.’

‘Alex rang earlier,’ he remarked over tea. ‘There was something in his voice. I think he might have decided to bale me out.’

‘So he should, darling,’ Mummy said in her little-girl
voice. ‘You wouldn’t be in this mess if it weren’t for him.’

Three days after this conversation, Alex Rees-James invited Sarah to dinner. A month later, he presented her with a diamond ring as big as a walnut and proposed. Sarah didn’t say yes straight away. She wanted to ask her father’s opinion first. If he thought it a bad idea, she would turn Alex down.

But Daddy seemed hugely pleased. ‘He’s a fine chap, Alex,’ he said, but there was something in his expression, a funny look, almost as if he was embarrassed as well as pleased. ‘He’ll make a fine husband. You have my blessing, Poppet.’ He fondly patted her head. ‘You may as well go ahead with the wedding as soon as possible. There’s no point in hanging around. Why not ring Alex now, tell him you’ve accepted his proposal? He’s probably on tenterhooks, waiting to hear.’

For some reason, her parents weren’t speaking to each other, something that Sarah had never known happen before. Mummy had been as mad as hell when she was told that Sarah was going to marry Alex Rees-James. Mummy being mad about anything was another thing that had never happened before.

‘He’s too old,’ she snapped, ‘and he’s not a very nice man. He swears like a trooper and those suits he wears are atrocious.’

‘I don’t mind him being old,’ Sarah said defensively. ‘In fact, I prefer it. Anyway, I like him. And I like his suits.’

‘Yes, but do you love him? That’s what matters.’

‘I’ll grow to love him.’ It would be like marrying a slightly inferior Daddy. She couldn’t marry the real one and the young men she met were quite beyond the pale.
Alex would be
almost
perfect. It also helped that he was immensely rich. Sarah had no intention of ending up, like Julia, in a miniature house having to do her own cleaning and go into hospital to have a baby in a ward with hundreds of other women, as Julia would do in three months’ time when she gave birth to her first. The fact that Julia seemed blissfully happy meant nothing. Perhaps falling in love rotted the brain. It certainly hadn’t done Julia any good.

Sarah’s wedding dress was a strapless, skin-tight silver affair that clung to her shapely figure like a second skin, making her look like Venus di Milo according to Daddy, or a mermaid, Julia said. For something borrowed, she wore Mummy’s diamond necklace and for something new, Alex bought her a tiara. For the blue thing, she wore a garter that rather spoilt the line of the dress, so she took it off before leaving for church, and for something old, she put on a pair of bikini panties that she’d bought a whole year ago, but hadn’t worn much. She left her hair loose and wild and wore the minimum amount of makeup because she didn’t really need it.

Alex’s eyes popped when she came down the aisle of the crowded church to where he was waiting. ‘It’s like marrying Miss World,’ he whispered. He’d had to slip the vicar a hefty donation so the wedding could be held there. Not only did he never go near a church, he’d only recently been divorced.

‘Cor, blimey,’ he muttered that night when they made love for the first time in a sumptuous hotel in Monaco. ‘I never dreamed you were still a virgin.’ Normally he spoke terribly well, but occasionally his cockney roots showed if he was surprised by something.

‘I was saving myself,’ Sarah said.

‘What for?’

‘Tonight.’

He kissed her. ‘You’re a sweet girl, Sarah. I’ll try to be a good husband. Just don’t take any notice if I lose my temper. I don’t mean it.’

She hoped the kiss wasn’t a signal that he was going to make love again because the first time had hurt rather, though had got quite nice towards the end. She felt sure she would eventually come to like it.

Sarah’s first child, a girl, was born in a Southport nursing home. There were frilly curtains on the window of her private room, a thick cream carpet on the floor, and the walls were painted a slightly lighter cream. She’d been so heavily drugged during labour that she’d hardly felt a thing.

The baby was born exactly nine months after she’d married Alex and he was incredibly pleased with both Sarah and his daughter. The room was full of flowers that had arrived that morning, only moments before Alex himself.

‘She’s a stunner,’ he said in an awed voice when he looked down at the baby in the cot beside her mother’s bed. ‘God, she’s beautiful.’

‘You can pick her up if you like,’ Sarah said generously.

‘Can I?’ He looked different, much softer, almost gentle, as held his daughter for the first time. ‘I wish I’d been here when she was born.’

‘I tried to track you down, but no one knew where you were.’

‘I was having dinner with someone in a hotel. There was a meeting afterwards that went on until the early hours and I thought I might as well stay the night. I
forgot to tell Charlie where I was going.’ Charlie was his assistant. He did virtually everything for Alex except dress him.

‘Why didn’t you and Midge have children?’ Sarah asked curiously.

‘She couldn’t have ’em,’ Alex said abruptly.

‘You could have adopted some.’

‘It wouldn’t have been the same.’ His eyes hardened, the way they always did when she brought up a subject he didn’t like. ‘What are we going to call our little girl?’ His face changed again and he rubbed his cheek against the baby’s smooth white one.

‘Tiffany’s my favourite girl’s name,’ she said. ‘It’s what I wanted to be called when I was little. Sarah seems so dull and plain.’

‘Sarah’s all right, but Tiffany’s better.’

The following night he came in armed with a video camera and filmed Tiffany awake, Tiffany asleep, Tiffany having her nappy changed and being breastfed by her beautiful mother.

‘I’ll do this every year on her birthday,’ he vowed, ‘and give it to her when she gets married.’

Just then, Julia arrived. Her little boy, Kevin, had been born the day after Sarah’s wedding. Now she was expecting again and looked terribly tired and bedraggled.

‘I’m fine,’ she cried when Sarah remarked on the fact. ‘I just didn’t get much sleep last night. Kevin’s teething. I’ve left him with Gary. I wasn’t sure if the nursing home would allow a National Health baby on the premises. I suppose,’ Julia went on, ‘you’ve got a whole team of nannies at home to look after Tiffany.’

‘Only two,’ Sarah said stiffly. ‘A permanent one and a maternity nanny who’s only staying for three months.’

‘Is that all?’ Julia hooted.

*

Daddy was up with the stars again. The Spanish thing had been sorted out somehow and he’d made some good investments since. Property was the thing, he claimed, but he was sticking to his own country from now on. He managed to buy a piece of land that Liverpool Corporation wanted for a school and had made a 1,000 per cent profit when he sold it. Sarah wasn’t quite sure what this meant, but it sounded awfully clever.

Although his situation had improved out of all proportion for the better, Sarah could tell her father wasn’t very happy. He badly missed his girls. His favourite day was Sunday when they came to tea: Julia with Gary, Kevin and Dorothy, the new baby, who cried all the time, and Sarah with Tiffany, who was a little angel. Sarah had never known her cry, but then, as Julia said tartly, she didn’t see her all that much, so wouldn’t really know. Daddy’s eyes would mist over when he looked at his growing family and remark he wished they could come every day.

Perhaps he would be happier if he’d been getting on better with Mummy. There’d been a distinct coldness between them ever since Sarah had announced her engagement to Alex. And he wasn’t even all that friendly with Alex, who refused to come to tea, saying he had more important things to do with his time.

She was deeply shocked when, one Sunday, she overheard Gary say to Julia that he felt sorry for the old chap.

Old! Daddy! Sarah looked at her father and could have cried when she noticed, for the first time, the deep lines under his eyes, the sharp crevices running from mouth to jaw, his thinning hair. Then she blinked, and when she looked, he was his old self again, her youthful, virile
Daddy, who would never change, not in her eyes, until the day he died.

Three years later, Daddy did die. Mummy found him in his office, his head buried in the
Financial Times
. He’d had a heart attack and had been dead for two hours.

Sarah was inconsolable. It didn’t help that she was pregnant for the third time and was having dreadful morning sickness. What made it worse was that no one seemed as upset as she was. Julia cried a lot at first, but her life was so busy, what with three small children to look after, Gary working all hours, she didn’t have time to mourn. She got over losing Daddy in no time.

Mummy was very calm about things. Sarah had expected her to wither away with a broken heart without Daddy to support her, but she seemed to be holding up surprisingly well. She’d actually remained dry-eyed at the funeral, to which very few people came, when Sarah had thought her father had had loads of friends.

In Sarah’s opinion, the house was put on the market with indecent haste. ‘There’s no point in hanging on to it, darling,’ Mummy said gently, ‘not now that your father’s gone. It’s cold and draughty and costs a small fortune to keep up.’

‘Are you short of money?’ Sarah asked, concerned.

‘Oh, no, there’s pots of money. Robin died at the height of one of his upward spirals, so I’m more than all right. He left everything to me in his Will but, darling, I shall put large sums aside for you and Julia.’

‘Julia needs it, but I don’t, Mummy. Alex is rich, far richer than Daddy ever was.’

‘You might need it one day, Sarah, possibly more than Julia. I’ll let you have the details once it’s sorted but I’d prefer you didn’t mention it to Alex.’

‘Why on earth not?’ Sarah cried.

‘Because a woman needs money of her own that her husband knows nothing about. I only wish
I’d
had some put away. Daddy got us into some terrible scrapes over the years.’

‘I’m sure he didn’t,’ Sarah protested.

Mummy laughed. ‘Darling, you don’t know the half of it. There were times when we didn’t have enough to buy groceries or pay Mrs Wesley’s wages. If I’d had money, I could have bought food and paid the wages and Daddy would never have known.’

Sarah sighed. ‘Where are you going to live when the house is sold?’

‘Paris. I shall buy myself a flat there.’

‘But you can’t speak French.’

‘Sarah, darling, I speak perfectly good French. Didn’t you notice when we were on holiday that it was always me who asked for things?’

‘I thought it was Daddy.’

‘No, it was me.’

Despite learning that her father hadn’t been the perfect human being she’d always thought, six months later, Sarah still couldn’t stop crying over his loss. Alex got quite cross with her – he’d already begun to get quite cross before Daddy died. It appeared she got on his nerves rather a lot. She was stupid, never read a book or a newspaper or watched anything on television that was even faintly serious. She didn’t have a hobby, didn’t knit or sew or paint. She couldn’t type or use a computer. He couldn’t talk to her about anything and neither could his friends. He felt embarrassed taking her out. ‘You’re so bloody ignorant, people laugh,’ he sneered one night
when Sarah was eight months pregnant. ‘I bet you can’t name a single politician.’

‘I know the Prime Minister is Tony Blair,’ she said defensively. Alex and most of the people she knew regarded him as the devil incarnate.

‘Who’s the Chancellor of the Exchequer?’ Alex countered.

Sarah shook her head. She didn’t know.

‘You stupid cow!’ To her intense horror, he slapped her face! The blow stung rather than hurt. Then he went down to the basement to play snooker, muttering, ‘I’ll get more sense out of the balls than I do from you.’